


I know something you don't know

by raccoon_witchery



Category: HP, Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Swearing, WIP, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8790811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoon_witchery/pseuds/raccoon_witchery
Summary: In his second year Draco begins to struggle with the feelings he's developing for Granger and his own prejudiced upbringing- and is held to ransom by a third grade friend because of it





	1. Chapter 1

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you potter?” I watched the boy in question jerk with surprise at my sudden intrusion until he recognised me and his eyes narrowed under those beaten glasses in annoyance “famous Harry Potter, can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”  
I hadn’t seen Potter come in but from my place up on the Mezzanine I had seen the comotion between himself and Lockhart. The fact that a stuckup boy who hung about with dirtpoor blood-traitors, and worse, was showered with praise and affection wherever he went made my head spin.  
“Leave him alone,” a voice piped up and I almost had to stifle a laugh. I hadn’t noticed the Weasley girl, and she was most certainly a Weasley with what could only be described as a nest of red hair and a dirt-spattered face.  
I looked back up at Harry Potter “oh look Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!”  
I stiffened as fathers cane thumped home, the metal serpents head biting into my skin even through my cloak, and I stepped aside as he began to speak. I always felt there was something icy and venomous in my father's voice, but more so when he’s sarcastic, like shards of glass ripping through silk sheets “now now, Draco…”  
For a while I paid close attention to the exchange between my father and the Potter boy- I’d always wondered how he’d act when they inevitably met in person. The firm handshake, the sudden jerk that threw potter of balance in every sense of the word, at least for a moment. And then she showed up and planted herself, inexplicably, right next to me. In retrospect she was probably just putting herself between the Weasley girl and I, but her close proximity caught me off guard anyway. It had only been a few months since I’d last seen Granger, but she had changed a lot. She was a little taller, and her hair less- well, less- and while I only caught a glimpse of her face it was sharper and less babyish, as I’m sure we all looked. One thing that hadn’t changed was me, or more precisely, the strange tug I got in my chest whenever I saw her. To be honest I had always found her… interesting in a way. Her intelligence and persistent perfectionist streak I often found charming rather than bemusing- albeit still somewhat annoying. And though I’d never admit it I admired her composed nature. Whatever her mood she never seemed to say anything carelessly. For example:  
“Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.”  
And so, despite the fact that her mudblood heritage made my stomach churn, I stared. I’d never heard Granger so defiant before, whatever happened down in the guts of the school changed her at least a little.  
“And you must be,” fathers eyes flicked over toward me “Miss Granger.”  
I only nodded slightly, and flushed slightly at his comment that I’d told him all about Granger. I didn’t think I spoke about her that often.

  
I didn’t say anything to her before we left, only eyeballed and said something I don’t remember to Potter and Weasley before stepping back out into Diagon alley. Taking a breath I stood and starred at the worn pavers for a long moment, trying to untangle the confusing ball of emotions forming and knotting up inside my chest before doing my best to shake the thoughts of Miss Granger off, out of my head, like a bad habit. Truth be told, rather unsuccessfully. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his first Quidditch match Draco is left nursing a thoroughly bruised ego in the Slytherin common room, spending time with the disarming character of Nadera, a Slytherin third year.

Peals of light laughter echoed across the otherwise empty Slytherin common room “and here I was thinking you were just hamming up being hurt.”  
Nadera stopped a few feet from me, her hands on her hips, the left holding a crimson apple. She was a third year and we'd built a friendship of sorts; based mostly on her smuggling Butterbeer and sweets back from Hogsmead excursions at exorbitant prices for me. But, frankly, I appreciated our brief repartees. Crabbe and Goyle were my oldest friends but it's no secret they're as thick as bricks.  
“Come on, move,” she gestured with her head “or I'll be forced to sit on you. Maybe on your head.”  
I was laying face down on the velvet lounge, my chin on the armrest, staring into the black lake through the glass viewing panel that dominated the opposite wall, watching the nameless swirling shapes within it. But at her comment I turned to scowl at Nadera “you wouldn't dare.”  
She shrugged “watch me,” and I did, responding only with a low growl of displeasure as she sat herself down on the back of my knees. For a moment she fished around in her skirt pocket before drawing a flick knife, like those American greasers carried, and began to slice up her apple. Nadera was interesting. Not just because she wasn't scared of me, or my father, but because of her culture. She's half Afghani and as a result wears leggings and a long sleeved shirt under her uniform, and a black hijab, always.  
“Y’know, this isn't very comfortable,” she said through a mouthful of apple “you're very boney. It's like sitting on a chicken wing.” She looked over at me “my God Draco Malfoy, if you had rolled your eyes any harder you might have found a brain back there.”  
Normally I could keep up with Nadera’s banter, but I was thoroughly drained. Instead I just gave a tired smile . I had given the game my all, and still lost out, in embarrassing fashion, to Potter of all people. My first game, with my father in the stands.  
And Granger.  
I tried not to think too much about Granger. I knew part of me had wanted to impress her, but that was so dumb I didn't want to think about it. She cut away a splice of apple and offered it to me “so what's more bruised? Your backside or your ego?”  
I munched on the apple giving a wicked smirk “oh I don't know, Nadera, maybe you could check for me?”  
She threw her head back and laughed “oh I love you Draco, but not that much. And besides, I'd probably have to wait in line for half this school to stop kissing it.”  
I chuckled “I think they have the right idea.”  
There was a moment of quiet, contemplative silence, and then she spoke again.  
“Listen, try not to beat yourself up too much over the game,” my eyes narrowed and I looked away as she continued “you did your best, and you came close.”  
I snorted “I made a fool of myself in front of everyone, including my father. And I lost to Potter.”  
Nadera shrugged “could have been worse,” I looked at her and she looked back “could have lost to Hufflepuff.”  
I smirked “but still-”  
“But still nothing. You'll do better next time.” Nadera rose to her feet and brushed a few apple chunks off her skirt “hey, I know something you don't know.”  
I looked over at her raising an eyebrow quizzically.  
“That I know something you don't know I know,” she smirked biting down on the last of her apple before turning away “smell you later, blondie.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco dueling...

The opening of the Chamber of Secrets was a good thing for a variety of reasons- not least of which was that every non-pure blood was finally getting the message that Hogwarts was not for them- but also the duelling club. It was good to really be able to stretch my legs, so to speak. And while we were supposed to be under Lockhart’s supervision he was more often preoccupied with the gaggle of girls who would flit about him asking for autographs. It was a little unnerving, watching a man approaching middle age clearly enjoying the attention being given to him by a bunch of teenage girls, but I tried not to think about it too much beyond taking a mental note that I should inform father. The plus side was that those actually there to duel could could go as hard as they liked. No one stood in the dueling room without their wand at the ready as it was often necessary to parry rogue spells. Or in the cases where Gregory Goyle had the floor, put out spot fires.  
“Incendio!” He barked, shooting a cone of flame from the end of his wand that seared my face and burnt my nose with the stench of sulphur before it even came close to touching me. I blocked my way through it and replied with a stupify that sent him stumbling, but not before he sent another arc of flames my way, hotter this time. Before long I was sweating bullets, caused by both the strain of the fight and the blasts of fire hurtling my way, but I had my plan. I knew that this was taking more of a toll on Goyle than it was on me, and I've been holding back. All I had to do was wait for him to tire, to falter, and I could hit him with everything at once, just like father had taught-  
I had blocked a spell, drawing my wand from left to right turning my body just enough to catch Granger staring at us- at me- out of the corner of my eye and my gaze locked with hers. A rush of thoughts and feelings flooded me but most prominent of all was simply what did she see?  
Mother has always said I looked hungry when I dueled. My jaw was clenched hard, my hair was probably a mess, I was practically cloaked in flame and I was vaguely aware of the fact that one of my sleeves had come unrolled and was smouldering at the cuff.  
She looked horrified, her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes wide, clutching a book so tight that her knuckles were bone white. I realised in that moment that I really, truly, did not want Granger to see me like this. Hungry, angry, aggressive. I was reminded of what I had said before my first Quidditch match. “Mudblood,” the word had tasted like ash as soon as I had said it but I grinned anyway. I was so sure I wouldn't want her approval after the match. Certain. I felt guilt twinge hard in my chest and my expression soften. I believe, for the first time in my life, I was, thoroughly, not proud of myself.  
Someone shouted “locomotor mortis!” But I didn't notice it was Goyle until my knees locked together and in my twisted state I hit the dueling mats hard, landing on my shoulder. As pain shot down my arm all thoughts of Granger evaporated. I kicked free of the jinx and, while still laying down, shot back a curse of my own. I don't remember what I said, only the savagery in my voice, and the way his boyish laughter turned to shock as the spell blasted him off his feet, carried him through the air, and slammed him against the wall with a sickening thump before slumping to the floor. For a moment the room was silent and part of me was aware that only a moment ago the crowd had been rippling with giggles, chatter and grins.  
Lockharts voice cut through the silence “Draco Malfoy, what part of “disarm only” do you not understand?”  
My eyes narrowed as I came to my feet “now you decide to pay attention?” I snarled back.  
Goyle groaned and sat upright feebly trying to stop the blood running from his nose, darkening his shirt. He had hit the back of his head though, not his face. As Lockhart barked orders to have Goyle taken to the hospital wing I turned to the door and noted that Granger had disappeared.


End file.
